Stiles let out a little sigh, relaxing in the sunlight. His shirtless torso gratefully drank up the bright light, absorbing the warmth as peace flowed through him. With his eyes closed, he could still see shadows of clouds as the little wispy dark spots passed over the sun. He realized that this was the first time that he'd actually really relaxed since finding out he was a witch. The tension melted from his shoulders as he let go of all thoughts about the Argents, witches, werewolves, and all of the other little secrets that made his shoulders tighten. He simply listened to the gentle splash of water and the distant shouts and laughter of strangers.

A darker shadow clouded the brightness of the sun against his eyelids suddenly, and he could feel a looming presence above him. His pulse quickened as he attempted to get up from his position on the ground, but the other person was too fast. Before he could react, he was covered in cold, salty ocean water.

"Dammit, Scott," Stiles said, sitting up and spitting out a mouthful of the briny water. Scott laughed as he backed up, fearing retaliation.

"It wasn't me," he said, dropping the bucket onto the sand. He put his hands up in surrender. "It was a sudden and inexplicable storm right above your head."

"Oh?" Stiles asked, standing up and wiping the sand from his dark green swimming trunks without taking his eyes off the tanned boy standing a few feet away.

"Yeah, a freak weather occurrence," Scott responded, slowly backing up further as his mate stood up on the towel.

"Oh yeah?" Stiles said, springing forward to grab the bucket that the boy had just dropped, Scott ran toward the ocean as Stiles scooped up a bucketful of sand. He ran over to Scott in the knee high water, able to catch up with him after the werewolf accidentally almost ran into a pack of kids. Coming up from behind and wrapping one arm around his lean waist, he hugged the boy close as he dumped the bucket of sand into the boy's dark hair. "It looks like a sand storm just picked up!"

Scott held his breath, trying not to inhale any of the hot sand pouring through his hair and down his shoulders. When the bucket emptied and the rain of sand ceased, Scott shook his hair out as best he could, stretching out the legs on his pink speedo to let out the uncomfortable sand that had gotten inside. Then, wriggling around, he came face-to-face with his mate, their flat stomachs pressed against each other. He breathed hotly on the boy's neck. His hands found their way to Stiles' hips. "Stiles," he said, his face buried against his pale shoulder. "I love the new bathing suit you bought me." The pale boy's breath hitched, caught in his throat before it could reach Scott's warm, inviting skin. He hadn't actually thought Scott would wear the gag gift when he bought it. Now he could feel the warmth of his entire exposed body. Suddenly, the sound of the ocean roared beneath him as he found himself flying over it. With a splash, the boy landed a full six feet away from Scott, his hips feeling hot from where his mate's hands were just before the tanned boy threw him into the water.

Scott surveyed the rippling water with a devious grin on his face, hands on his hips as he awaited the angry witch to emerge from the surface and tackle him. His smile slowly faded as more time passed without so much as a bubble in the direction Stiles had flown. Scott's wobbly knees pushed forward uncertainly through the water, his breath coming in short pants as he worked his way through the water to where it was waist deep. He began to chastise himself as his rapidly beating heart pumped blood and adrenaline through his veins. Stiles was still basically a human. Scott knew that he couldn't take as much abuse as a wolf. He pictured the boy's fragile human head making contact with the hard packed sand beneath the water, his neck bending under the pressure and-

Salty water stung Scott's eyes and nose as he found himself underwater. Waves broke over Stiles' head as he splashed through to the surface, his hands still wrapped around Scott's ankles. He waited until the angry, foamy bubbles stopped floating up to greet him before he let the boy go free, allowing him to rectify himself. With a loud gasp, Scott whipped his wet locks from his face so he could look at his attacker. Stiles raised his hands to either side in surrender, a pensive look on his face as he awaited Scott's next attack or acceptance of his surrender. Scott's dark eyes squinted and his plump lips set into a hard line as he considered his options. Finally, he waded over to Stiles, who flinched as the boy slid an arm around his waist. Satisfied that they were even, Stiles allowed himself to be guided to their towel. Scott gave his butt a little pat in a final act of revenge before they both stretched out on the towel to dry out and soak up the sun.

Sand stuck to their backs as they relaxed, letting the warmth of the daylight into their bodies. Distantly, some children were yelling and splashing in the water. Scott listened to Stiles' heartbeat as it seemed almost in sync with the crashing of the waves. As his lungs filled with salty air, Stiles could sense the perfect flow of nature around him. The waves were crashing against rocks, slowly wearing it into sand. Fiddler crabs dug into the wet sand, creating a shelter where they could hide and hunt. Tiny fish darted around the splashing feet of kids and their parents. Seagulls floated on the water, their keen eyes seeking out the little fish to eat. Everything was working in perfect harmony.

Scott enjoyed the liberation of having the vast majority of his skin exposed. The warm breeze felt good on his sweaty skin, and he liked the lusty glint in Stiles' eyes every time his gaze lingered on his mate. Propping his head up on his hands, he took a deep breath and let a gentle, crooked smile creep across his face. The salty air made it difficult to smell anyone else, except him and Stiles, which was a blessing for Scott and his usually oversensitive nose. The roar of the ocean drowned out most sounds other than Stiles' breathing and heartbeat. The universe seemed to wrap around the pair to create a little world of their own. Since he'd first untangled his feelings for Stiles, this moment was the one that he'd been waiting for. A sense of completion, of companionship, and of connection on a fundamental level.

A sudden blot in the light interrupted their moment of unspoken partnership. Stiles was half convinced that he would open his eyes to find that the blot was the moon, marring the flow of light between the sun and his own world with Scott. Instead it was Boyd, dripping wet as he shuffled through the bag sitting next to the pair. As he withdrew two towels, Lydia approached from behind him, equally wet as she gratefully accepted the towel he offered her. As the pair dried themselves off, Stiles propped himself up on his elbows and surveyed the ocean. The sun was closer to the water than he'd remembered. A glance at his phone confirmed to Stiles that he had Scott had been sitting together for much longer than he'd thought.

"Wow, have we really been here that long?" Stiles wondered aloud. Suddenly, a terrible thought ran through his mind. He sprung to his feet. "Oh no, dammit."

Boyd scoffed and Scott giggled as Stiles poked his stomach, watching the skin turn from a light white back into an angry shade of red. Stiles looked at him imperiously. "If you'd brought a stronger sunblock like I suggested, this wouldn't have happened," she said as she folded her towel. "Your pale skin doesn't have enough melanin to defend itself against the UV rays."

Stiles' mouth crumpled in a snarl as she smugly applied another layer of sunblock to her fair skin. Scott sat up and slapped his stomach, leaving a white handprint over his navel as he doubled over in pain. Lydia and Boyd both joined Scott's laughter as Stiles fluently spilled expletives at his mate. Their laughing redoubled when Stiles' sunglasses fell off, revealing the squares of unburned skin around his eyes. From a distance, they looked like a normal group of friends enjoying a day at the beach.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Walking through the front door, Stiles couldn't help but smile as the warm glow of the day still rang through his head. He didn't bother searching for his father, whose irregular schedule Stiles had long since made a habit of memorizing weekly. Instead he began digging through the cabinets in search of the popcorn he'd promised Scott. The two had settled on a movie night after Stiles discovered on the way home that Scott had never tried kettle corn. The package of sweet microwavable popcorn was wedged far in the back of the cabinet, with the rest of the things that Mr. Stilinski had dubbed "Stiles' weird food."

After flipping through his personal collection of DVDs, Stiles decided on a night of movies based off of video games: Resident Evil, Tomb Raider, and Silent Hill. They had both long since exhausted Stiles' collection of movies, so he'd gotten into the habit of coming up with themes to keep the same tired movies interesting. However, Stiles hoped this weak theme would provide lots of time for the two to talk, and even more time for them to make out.

Passing through the hallway to try and find some other snacks before the boy came over, he doubled back to look at the note taped to the phone. His dad had scrawled a number that he didn't recognize across the back of a Chinese take out menu and taped it to the phone. His own name was written above it, and one he'd only seen once before was written below. His Aunt Ellen was one of the four remaining family members who he hadn't been able to track down in any way. Now, apparently, his father had gotten hold of her phone number. The world seemed to fall out from beneath Stiles. He had gotten so caught up in being a regular teenager that he'd totally forgotten about his recent discoveries.

Suddenly, hope fluttered up through Stiles' stomach, settling in the back of his throat. This could be his connection to his mom's family. He could finally get some answers about his powers; more importantly, he could get answers about his family history. A million questions started buzzing in Stiles' mind like a hive of bees, working busily now with the promise of answers. Taking the menu from the phone, he studied the numbers for a moment before picking up the land line. Somehow, it seemed wrong. After all of the anticipation, he felt like there should be something more ceremonial about the entire thing than picking up a telephone. The dial tone droned impatiently as he hesitated. Finally, he punched in the numbers, each flat note echoing through his skull.

One ring. It suddenly occurred to Stiles that he had no idea where his aunt lived. It could be the middle of the night where she was. Two rings. What if he was calling to another continent? Surely it would cost a lot. The Sheriff wouldn't be happy. Surely there would be more numbers for a phone in another country. Three rings. He couldn't even picture his Aunt Ellen in his head. It seemed weird to be calling a total stranger and expecting a family out of her. Especially since even afterward, he would still probably have no idea what she looked like. Four rings. What if she didn't answer? Leaving a message hadn't even occurred to Stiles. What could he say? 'Hi, this is your nephew, you remember your dead sister right? She had a son, and he's a witch now! So when's the reunion?' Five rings. The world suddenly went silent and still, like the moment a ball reaches its climax and hovers in the air for a moment before falling again.

"Hello?"